


White Shores

by Saahs



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Gen, I warn you now there is no happy ending., Major Spoilers, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 15:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saahs/pseuds/Saahs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the book, Fíli and Kíli's deaths were barely mentioned, let alone was it described. I decided to fix that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Shores

It had been a most astonishing sight. The hills of shimmering gold and gems, the vast halls, even the mountain itself was a sight to see. Despite the dragon issue, the great halls of Erebor had been what the Dwarves remembered it to be; nothing short of magnificent. And those who had never seen the grand mountain before, had their expectations far more than satisfied. It was unending wealth. It was royalty. It was awe. It was _home._

Well, not to all. The two youngest dwarves, Kili and Fili, had only heard stories from their uncle, seen the distant outline of the great mountain. To say the least, they were awestruck when they entered Erebor. All that Thorin had told them of the Dwarven kingdom, all their dreams of one day going there… That day was good. But it wasn’t home. Not theirs. 

And yet here they were now, fighting for it. Not a day ago, their king had the intentions to fight for the gold which rested in Erebor. But now, it was for so much more. And Fili and Kili felt no resentment for defending a kingdom which they never dwelt in. For something so dear to their kin, Thorin Oakenshield, they would raise arms to protect this home.

The original number of three armies had seemed a bit much as the armies marched to the battle yet to start, but then the horde of Orcs charged in, and the aspect of the fight turned drastically. First it was Dwarves against men and Elves, and now it was Dwarves, men, and Elves against these vile creatures atop their Wargs. Confusing, yes, but the confusion died down as Dwarf, Elf, and man alike fought side by side for their lives, for Erebor.

It was the first battle Kili and Fili had ever been a part of. All the stories of war they had been told, were nothing compared to the real thing. It wasn’t glorified, they didn’t feel surges of courage run through their veins. It was a challenge to their wits and reflexes that upon many a swing of a sword, flying of an arrow, or hurl of an axe, pushed their experience past their limit. The violence, the successful blows they dealt to Orcs and Wargs, did not empower them with their small victory. It was merely a small wave of relief that they could continue living, until, of course, they were met with another foe even before their last had fallen.

Staying close to one another was a rough task, they discovered. Most of the time, they could barely even hear the other fighting nearby. And panic would bubble up inside the both of them when that feeble sound became completely impossible to catch. The first time Fili and Kili were separated, it was likely the worst they had ever felt.

“Kili!? Kili!?” Fili’s cries out for his younger brother was drowned out by the din of war, unanswered. Raising his two short-swords, he hacked through the Orcs as he frantically searched for Kili.

One Orc. Two Wargs. Three more Orcs. Another Warg. Several more Fili did not care to keep numbers on, and still no sign of his kin. Men and Elves, towering many inches over his head, bustled this way and that amongst Dwarves he did not recognise. Where was Kili? Where could he have gone so far out of Fili’s reach in so little time? He feared the worst, which drove him to look where he hoped least to find Kili: on the ground.

Shouting out his brother’s name as he ducked and dodged, Fili’s eyes darted across the ground, this way and that. Bodies were already littering the ground. It could not have even been an hour since this all began, could it? A burning stone made its way from the pit of his stomach into his throat as he spotted a familiar arm outstretched from underneath a felled Warg. Crying out, Fili ran over to the dead animal, shoving it with all his might until it rolled off of a Dwarf body.

A living Dwarf, thankfully. And the living Dwarf, the wind knocked out of him, was a wide-eyed Kili, empty quiver and bow, still gripped tight in his hand, snapped into pieces. The stone that had gathered in Fili’s throat died away as he inhaled a breath of relief. “Getting stuck under dead Wargs already, little brother?” he teased loudly, hoisting his brother up.

“At least I was the one who shot it down,” Kili retorted, before being interrupted by a lunging Orc. Howling, Fili drove one blade into the creature’s foul gut then struck the other into its throat.

Kicking the corpse away, he hollered to Kili, “Draw your sword, nitwit! Arrows are no use at this range!”

“Not like I have any left!” was Kili’s response as he followed Fili’s order, brandishing the large blade with both hands gripping the handle. With shaky laughter, the two sibling continued felling Wargs and their riders together.

That would not be the first time the two were pushed away from each other by large, hostile groups, and each time was just as panic-striking as the last.

The sky was clouded with smoke, and things were looking quite grim for the Dwarves and their allies. Among the bodies of Orcs, near twice as many corpses of men, Elves, and Dwarves were adding up, one after another. Cut, burned, bruised, and getting quite tired, the only thing that stopped Kili and Fili from lying down and pretending to be amongst the fallen was the rushing of adrenaline coursing through them.

They were cornered. Against their backs, massive stones. In the way of them fleeing into the open fray, four Orcish brutes. The two Dwarves had backed up against the stone as they fought off the Orcs, having yet to bring one of them down. And now, with no way of escaping the four and their energy running low, their hopes were low. Very low.

Fili glanced to his brother as he muttered to him, “I better be the first to go.”

“What, you?” Kili said, looking at his brother as he swiped his sword to make the Orcs back up for just a spare moment. “First? Oh no. We better be off at the same time, with at least one of these Buggers too.”

As they readied their weapons for a final resistance against the Orcs, a great shriek came from a bove, followed by many more, from all across the sky. They, along with their four opponents, foolishly looked up, just in time for giant claws to rake across the four Orcs, driving them several metres across the ground, dead by the time they were released. The Dwarf brothers exchanged looks before gazing blankly at the sky again.

“Was that—”

“I think it was—”

“It was—duck!”

The tow had just enough time to jump out of the way of a flailing Orc rocketing through the air, crashing into the rock they had been against just moments ago. Pushing himself up, Kili cursed, “Are those damn eagles on our side or neither?” He helped Fili up, and into the fray they threw themselves once more. Perhaps just the arrival of the giant eagles was all they needed to boost their hopes.

From a cold soldier’s point of view, the battle was turning well, soon favouring the defenders of the great mountain. But an important member of the original party of fourteen was at horrible risk. Thorin, son of Thrain, Goblin Cleaver in one hand and a shield shaped from an oaken branch in the other, was outnumbered and with no allies near to aid him. It was by sheer luck that, while racing through the crowds and mowing down Orcs, the young brothers came upon their king, their uncle.

“Thorin!” they both cried as they broke into a sprint towards the older Dwarf.

The sound of familiar voices caught Thorin surprised him, but nonetheless brought his hopes up. “Kili! Fili!” he shouted in response after the two hacked down a couple Wargs from behind.

United, the three took down the band of Orcs and Wargs that just moments ago had the upper hand against Thorin. Their blood was shed from cuts and bludgeons, but nothing seemed to be capable of bringing down the kin of Durin.

And that was when a familiar, pale face showed itself. Towering over the rest of his kind atop his silvery Warg, he grinned as he rumbled, “Thorin.”

“Azog,” Thorin breathed, standing erect. All who were close to Azog and his target steered out of their way, save for two Dwarves.

The pale Orc pointed his metal claws at the heir of Erebor, spouting foul-sounding words that were neither Common nor Dwarvish, but the meaning behind them was clear all the same. Dismounting, Azog strode closer to Thorin, his height overcoming the Dwarf’s immensely.

Kili and Fili looked at each other anxiously, both asking the same queries with their eyes: Let this be Thorin’s fight and his alone, or help? Looking back, they found that their glance had lasted long enough for Azog and their uncle to begin their one-on-one battle. Theirs, and theirs alone. So it was decided, and the two brothers circled about the pale Orc and Thorin, fending off any Orcs silly enough to try and attack Thorin from behind.

It seemed like ages that Thorin and Azog faced against each other. Blow after blow, falling down and pushing themselves back up, neither seemed closer nor farther from dying than the other. It was when a slice across the back of his knee, did Thorin bring Azog down to a kneeling position. Without hesitation, the Dwarven heir raised his Elven blade and, with a thundering roar, beheaded his nemesis.

The sheer strength of the Dwarf’s roar brought nearly the entire battlefield to a standstill. Dwarves looked in over-joy. Men and Elves stared with astonishment. And the Orcs were a mixture of fear and animalistic rage that their leader had been defeated. Cheers that came from the Dwarves caused the ground to shudder, and the shrieks and growls of the enraged Orcs joined in.

The illusion of victory was soon shattered, however. The Orcs raised their weapons. They let their voices ring through the land. And then they surged forward with a new-found fury. Many had not been expecting such a reaction, and they cost dearly for such. Men, Elves, Dwarves, they were hacked down and chopped up even after hitting the ground. The Orcs had one target. Only one.

Thorin.

The Dwarf, and his two nephews, turned to see the horrible wave coming straight for them. Curses were muttered under their breath, but they held up their weapons never the less. Upon seeing Kili and Fili stand their ground, Thorin’s expression was struck with fear. “No, get back you two! Flee, now!” he bellowed.

The brothers looked at him then back to the approaching horde. “Flee?” Fili started.

“And leave you?” Kili finished.

The two glanced back to their dear uncle. “Sorry uncle. But we can’t have that. We’ll have to be a nuisance, one more time.”

There was no point in arguing. They wouldn’t leave him alone to his death even if Durin himself emerged and commanded so. With a final sigh of exasperation and dread, Thorin drove Orcrist into the nearest Orc, and the three kin fought for one another’s lives. Unable to reach the Dwarves in the centre of the mayhem, the other Dwarves, men, and Elves mowed down Orcs from the outside. The only fighters able to get near the innermost Orcs were the eagles. And with this assistance, a sliver of hope for surviving was soon seen by Kili, Fili, and Thorin.

But while the bigger picture of a story may be happy, not all the small ones that make it up will be. The first words of sorrow were wrought as an arrow ripped through the air, towards Thorin, who did not know of it. The only one aware of the arrow besides its shooter was Kili, sharp of eyes and keen with archery. “Thorin!” He cried the second he spotted the arrow. And without another thought, he threw himself at Thorin, raising his arms across one another in front of his chest and head as feeble protection.

The arrow dug through his armour, piercing deep into his leg. Screeching in pain, Kili crumpled onto one knee. The sound of his agonised voice caught his brother’s attention, whom ran to his aid, pulling him up. “Now you go, brother!” Fili demanded, wishing everything but his brother to fall in this battle.

“And let you have all the fun?” Kili laughed through heavy breaths. He balanced his weight onto his good leg and pulled away from Fili, facing the Orcs again. “An arrow in my leg isn’t going to keep me from cutting down Orcs, Fili!”

With no way of dragging his injured brother out of the fight, Fili snarled in frustration and turned his attention back to the ever-coming enemy. Orc after Orc he cut and stabbed, wary of the creatures getting too close to Thorin or Kili. Too wary, perhaps. It took him minutes to notice the crude spear that was embedded in his right shoulder. The late reaction was met with a growl through clenched teeth. And it didn’t take long for Kili and Thorin to spot the long shaft protruding from Fili.

“Don’t! No, don’t say anything!” Fili snapped before either could speak up or run to him. “I’m fine!” He ignored their protests as he fought on with one sword, his right arm soon involuntarily dropping the other.

Dwarves are hardy. They can take several blows before becoming exhausted. It was so for Fili and Kili, after several blades, spears, and clubs were parried, blocked, and stuck into them, instead of their intended target. Thorin was not unscathed, but a shallow stab wound was the worst of his injuries by the time he snapped his focus out of the bloodshed and saw what his nephews were enduring. Or rather, now, were _barely_ enduring.

Kili was down to his knees again, his good knee now mangled and cut wide open. Three more arrows had made themselves comfortable in him, two in his arm and one in his shoulder, forcing him to hold his sword with only one hand. Fili was only slightly better, having taken an arrow to his already injured arm and a deep cut on his side was oozing blood.

“Kili! Fili!” Thorin cried, making no effort to his his utter fear. When his nephews looked at him with tired but burning eyes, he begged, “Please, Get out of here!”

“Look around you, Thorin!” Fili roared, cutting off the arm of an Orc. “ _There is nowhere to run!_ We can’t go anywhere!”

Kili listened to their words, but heard little else as he barely fought off Orcs. Fili was right. There was nowhere they could run. They were stuck there. They weren’t going to be able to escape. They weren’t… They weren’t going to live. He showed it only with blinking salty water out of his eyes, but the realisation had struck him harder than any weapon that had so far. He looked back to his uncle. To his brother. They looked just as hopeless as he felt. They were all three going to die. He turned his gaze back to the Orcs. They were going to die…

He took one final look back to his kin, and the fire that burns within all Dwarves rekindled. If he was going to die, it wasn’t going to be on his knees, mourning his demise. Jabbing his sword into the ground, he pulled himself up, legs trembling under the weight and eyes bright once more. Letting out a shriek, Kili freed his sword from the ground and swung it with a fervour befit a seasoned warrior. His strikes brought down one Orc after another, and soon he could hear Thorin and Kili’s voices ring up as they fought as well. If they were going to die, so be it. But let them die like this.

There was no hope for survival, no thought of living to see the victory. But there was an unspoken cause that drove the three Dwarves. It was each other. It was home. And not the world, nor a mountain, not a kingdom filled with treasures. That wasn’t home. No…

Kili.

Fili.

Thorin.

Balin.

Dwalin.

Dori.

Nori.

Ori.

Bifur.

Bofur.

Bombur.

Even the little burglar, Bilbo Baggins.

They were home. And the world.

And so when it happened, Kili didn’t regret tossing himself in front of his uncle and brother. He didn’t regret being their shield as the spear drove through his chest. He didn’t… He didn’t even feel it, really. He was done. He had given his all. This was not what he was imagining when he asked to join the party, but he thought to himself, this was better than what he was expecting. He came to reclaim a treasure and a home that wasn’t his, and ended up fighting for something far greater.

All was quiet as he fell to the ground, his sword clattering next to him. His sight was blurring quickly, and he could barely feel his brother grasp and hoist him into an embrace. He couldn’t hear Fili’s wails and begs for this not to be. He couldn’t hear Thorin’s cries, either. He could not see them, even before his eyes closed.

But what he could hear, first barely a whisper and then clear as a ringing bell, was the sound of waves against a shore. Gulls were squawking above, and the smell of salt water met his nose. Slowly, he cracked his eyes open. He was lying on a silvery field, the grass tall and perfect, glimmering like glass in the sunlight, strong and bright even in the early hours of dawn. As he sat up, he found that he felt no pain. The grass underneath him tinkled musically when he stood, and he looked down at himself. There was no blood, no injuries. His clothes were clean, seemingly brand new. He looked at his surroundings, all but completely befuddled.

Everything shimmered with a silver-like sheen, glistened and sparkled like crystal and glass, and a soft breeze was blowing through the cool air. The sound of waves and gulls caught Kili’s attention, and he turned his gaze.

A shore of snowy-white sand was in the distance, which clear, glimmering water was lapping at. The sun reflecting off of the water was more beautiful than any of the treasure Kili had set his eyes on in Erebor. And far, far out in the waters, he could make out land. Vast, rich green land, ever so welcoming even to those gazing at it from such a great distance.

“Fili…” he rasped, limp in Fili’s arms. “Do you see that? The shore… It’s beautiful…”

His arm shakily reached out to the shore only he could see, before it fell limp again, and his last breath of air escaped, leaving the faintest of smiles on his face.

He was gone. His brother. His dear, little brother, was gone. Trembling, Fili lightly shook the lifeless body of Kili. “No—No! Kili! Come on, there’s no shores here! We’ve almost won now, see? See!? Look! There’s not many left! Afterwards there’ll be a big feast! And we can sing and laugh! Like we did at Mr. Baggins’ home! Remember!? You called him Mr. Boggins, remember that!? Say you remember! Say! Say something, brother! _Please!_ ”

Fili buried his face into his brother’s hair, weeping even as an Orc stabbed its blade through him and tore it out. As he wept, everything went dark, quiet. And soon, he felt nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not 100% sure dwarves would even see the white shores at death, as Gandalf described in The Return of the King. So if not, then consider this a mild AU.


End file.
